


Thank God for Bonfires and Good Friends

by codarra



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bonfires, Drunkenness, M/M, Miscommunication, Underage Drinking, drunk!Stiles, forest parties, polyamory (mentioned)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-29
Updated: 2013-12-29
Packaged: 2018-01-06 14:14:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1107827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/codarra/pseuds/codarra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Holy shit! This is so cool!” Stiles shouted as he and Scott approached the clearing. Scott made some sort of disgruntled noise beside him, but Stiles wasn’t paying attention. He was mesmerised by the party going on.</p><p>It was in the middle of the woods, in this huge open area, surrounded on all sides by dark, dead trees—the leaves fell quickly at this time of year, when the air was turning cooler but not so cold to be unable to stay outside. And at the center was a blazing bonfire that Stiles would swear was easily two storeys tall, but was more likely just eight or nine feet. It gave off sparks and smoke—that his dad had once told him over a campfire one year were spirits of the dead travelling to the afterlife; that the fire finally set them free. The fire warmly lit the clearing and the other party-goers who were already there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thank God for Bonfires and Good Friends

**Author's Note:**

> This is for [messajo](http://www.messajo.tumblr.com) on tumblr, who prompted me with "bonfires and drunk Stiles." I hope this does it justice; she seems to think so.
> 
> There are brief mentions of polyamory, more implied than anything else. In case that needs more of a warning than just the tag.
> 
> Also I set this post-s02, but without the threat of the alpha pack.

“Holy shit! This is so cool!” Stiles shouted as he and Scott approached the clearing. Scott made some sort of disgruntled noise beside him, but Stiles wasn’t paying attention. He was mesmerised by the party going on. 

It was in the middle of the woods, in this huge open area, surrounded on all sides by dark, dead trees—the leaves fell quickly at this time of year, when the air was turning cooler but not so cold to be unable to stay outside. And at the center was a blazing bonfire that Stiles would swear was easily two storeys tall, but was more likely just eight or nine feet. It gave off sparks and smoke—that his dad had once told him over a campfire one year were spirits of the dead travelling to the afterlife; that the fire finally set them free. The fire warmly lit the clearing and the other party-goers who were already there. 

Stiles easily picked out Lydia, chatting with some of her friends opposite to where he and Scott entered. He knew that their invitation had been an afterthought, that it was only due to their being in the same class, but it was still nice to be invited at all. 

His crush on her, and the pedestal he had placed her upon, had finally fallen away. Or, in some respects, been transferred to someone else. Luckily, he didn’t see the object of his affections here—which made sense—because he knew there would be alcohol, of which he would be partaking heartily, and he didn’t want to make an ass out of himself in front of him. 

That had only been a slight revelation at the time, when he realised that he was just as interested in dudes as he was girls, considering how his body had reacted the first time he saw the guy. So there hadn’t been any real freak out about it, unless he counted figuring out how to tell Scott—which he hadn’t yet, because he was still dealing with the whole Allison issue. 

Stiles passed some guy who immediately handed him an unopened beer bottle—of course it wouldn’t be a keg; not at a Martin party. “Thanks, man!” 

He twisted off the top and took a large drink. He wasn’t the biggest fan of beer, or alcohol in general, but he did enjoy how it made him feel. He was able to leave the constant buzzing in his head, the ceaseless slew of thoughts and words and emotions that swirled around his brain behind. So yeah, he pretty much planned on getting shit faced tonight, no matter the consequences. 

Who knows, maybe someone else would get drunk enough to make out with him, help get his mind off a certain someone who he was pretty sure didn’t think he existed when Stiles was out of sight. 

“Stiles, what are we doing here? What am _I_ doing here? I can’t get drunk anymore, remember?” Scott whisper-shouted at him, tugging on his sleeve as though it would make him turn around and walk back to his Jeep. 

“Then just be my wingman, dude! It’s a party!” 

Scott’s dubious look made Stiles bristle. “You think you’re gonna hook up with someone?” 

“What, like it’s completely out of the question?” Stiles flung his hands up. 

“You’re wearing plaid.” 

“Somebody could be into the lumberjack scene.” Stiles huffed in frustration. “There’s nothing wrong with plaid, and you’re an awful wingman so far. What’s got your panties in a twist?” 

Scott apparently deigned to ignore his question. “But what about—”

Stiles squashed his hand on Scott’s face to shut him up, sure he was going to say Lydia’s name. “What about _what_ , Scott? There’s nothing to worry about. There’s no impending threat. Nobody’s telling me they’re going to rip out my throat with their teeth. It’s fine, it’s good. Let’s just have fun!” 

If his heart rate spiked and his voice cracked at the mention of Derek’s one-time violent hyperbole—at least, that’s what Stiles hoped it was, since the worst he had ever done was bash his head onto a steering wheel, which was bad enough, granted—well, he just hoped that Scott was too preoccupied with his own man-angst to notice. 

Scott must have grumbled out some sort of acquiescence because he followed Stiles to the huge chests of ice filled with bottles of beer after he downed the rest of what was in his own. He hoped there was something to munch on; he could already feel the heady effects of the alcohol, and he didn’t want to get drunk five minutes into the party—so what if he was a lightweight? He didn’t drink all that often. He had to keep _some_ sort of composure as the sheriff’s son, after all. 

*******

Sometime later, he wasn’t sure when—was it his third beer? No, his fourth, definitely. Or did he just drop his fifth into the rubbish bin? He couldn’t litter, that would be bad. He should know; his father was the sheriff. He’d get a ticket. 

Stiles giggled at the mental image of his father writing him out a ticket, like he was signing one of his many, many detention slips. Then he giggled because he was giggling. Wait, no, he was a dude, right? He was chuckling. That’s right—men chuckle. They don’t giggle. 

He was feeling good—carefree and lightheaded, just the way he liked it. He’d been tipsy more often than he’d been drunk, but he’d say he was at least 85% drunk right now. And that was okay. He didn’t have anywhere to be, no one needed or wanted him anywhere, and after the last few months he had, that was a good feeling. 

Stiles turned around and the sight before him nearly sobered him up. Scott had disappeared a while ago, and he had said something, but Stiles couldn’t remember. It was floating around up there with all the fuzzy feelings in his head. He’d remember eventually; or maybe he wouldn’t. Either way, Scott was gone. 

Stiles had ventured around by himself for a while, danced a little. It was fun to dance alone sometimes, but then it could get lonely. And none of the songs had really called to him, so after a few tracks to shake his hips to, he’d wandered off aimlessly. He liked to people watch a lot. It was one of his favourite activities—his dad had said he’d make a great detective if he’d wanted, but Stiles wasn’t sure what he wanted. 

But now before him again was the part of the bonfire where people were dancing. And in the middle of all of the seniors from BHHS were Scott, Allison and Isaac. Dancing. Together. All three of them. Together. At the same time. 

Stiles blinked and rubbed at his eyes, taking a step forward and then deciding it was a bad move and took another back. They were all still dancing, and it was _dancing_ , if he could get the point across. There was touching. A lot of touching actually. And bodies moving. A lot of movement. Some of it made him uncomfortable to watch. Like he was being a voyeur. And it wasn’t all focused on Allison. 

Well, that’s something new. Stiles laughed out loud. He noticed a few people near him glance over at the sudden noise, then give him a strange look after they realised he was laughing at nothing. But he was laughing because of reasons! And they included the fact that it didn’t really surprise him that the three of them were apparently getting together. There had been hints about it forever, and Stiles always wondered about the way Isaac looked at Scott sometimes. 

He giggled—no, dammit, he chuckled—again and turned around and almost ran into Lydia. 

“Oh! Hi—hey—uh—yo. Great…fire.” 

Lydia snorted prettily—everything she did was pretty, of course; even Stiles’ lack of a crush on her wouldn’t undo that fact. 

“I didn’t know you brought _him_ along, Stiles.” She smiled sweetly, knowingly at him, then _pranced _off.__

__“Bring—Lydia! Bring who? Scott?” Stiles called after her. “Lydia! Of course I would bring Scott. You invited us!”_ _

__He huffed out a sigh and dug his hands into his pockets intending on sending her a text to get her bouncy butt back over here, but then the screen was all glow-y and shifty so he put it away. Then he laughed at _bouncy butt_. _ _

__Stiles walked around some more, wondering if he should go grab another beer. His hands had been empty for a while now. That’s against party-going etiquette, right? Yeah, it was written down somewhere, he was sure of it._ _

__“Hey, isn’t he that creepy guy?”_ _

__“Who?”_ _

__“The one at the lacrosse game. I think that’s him. And didn’t we see him at Lydia’s party last year? He looks…”_ _

__The voices faded away as he continued to walk, but Stiles looked back. The two girls who’d been talking weren’t looking at him, but in the opposite direction. He tried to see who they were talking about—something they said tickled the back of his mind, but it flitted away before he could care too much about it—but it was all blurry beyond the two girls. And the fire was kind of in the way, too. Such a hindrance, that thing was._ _

__Stiles turned back round and grinned. Erica and Boyd were sitting on a log not too far from him! He bet they’d be delighted to see him, so he gracefully—or not, tripping over several bottles; how dare these plebeians litter! Didn’t they know who he was?—walked over to them and sat down._ _

__“Hey, guys! What’s up, Wolf Fam! Short for family, get it?” He nudged Boyd with his elbow, who was about as moveable as the moai statues on Easter Island. “God, Erica, is he made of bricks or something?”_ _

__Erica laughed at him and at his joke simultaneously—she had a special way about her, it seemed. “Or something. But seriously, could you shout any louder about us?”_ _

__“Oh, please. Everybody’s drunk. They won’t listen to me.” He gig—chuckled._ _

__Boyd made some sort of noise that Stiles took for agreement, so Stiles slapped an arm around his shoulders._ _

__“Have you tried some of the beer? Lydia made some really good choices this time. I know you can’t get inebirated—inaberiated—inebriated like me, but it still tastes good. After the second or third bottle, anyway.”_ _

__“How many have you had, Stiles? We could smell your breath from a mile away,” Erica said, snarling her nose at him. Her eyes might have flashed gold, too, but that could have been just the firelight._ _

__“Oh, sorry.” Stiles’ shoulders slumped. He felt tired all of a sudden. Maybe he should leave. Stiles thought he heard a mumbled “ _Shit_ ,” before he felt some shuffling. _ _

__All of a sudden, Erica was sitting next to him and Boyd had disappeared._ _

__“Did you know that Derek’s here?”_ _

__“What?” Stiles’ head shot up from where he’d been looking at his shoes. He looked wildly around before remembering who he was sitting by: a member of Derek’s pack, no less!_ _

__Erica chuckled—and apparently girls can chuckle, too; not that he’d ever bought into that heteronormative crap. So did that mean he could giggle? And there went his thoughts again, galloping off on a moment’s notice, usually without his consent._ _

__“Yeah. Actually, he showed up not five minutes after you and Scott did. And that was after he fervently said no to my invitation for him to show up sometime tonight. Interesting, huh?”_ _

__“Yeah, interesting. Do you know where he is?”_ _

__Erica hummed and pointed toward the bonfire. “Somewhere over in that direction. Don’t worry, I’m sure he won’t let you fall into the flames.” She cackled to herself as she got up to probably follow Boyd, wherever he went._ _

__Stiles staggered forward in the direction she had indicated, bumping into a few of the students he knew and some he didn’t, apologetic words slurring from his lips. As he fell over a log on which a couple might have been making out—and by the way, why had no one wanted to kiss him tonight?—two very strong hands grabbed him and pulled him upright._ _

__Of course, he flailed in this rescue attempt, instantly trying to right himself without aid, but that only caused him to stumble into a very broad and very firm chest. Stiles’ hands became sentient for a moment and travelled over the muscles covered in a very soft cloth—there might have been a slight moan at how incredibly soft the shirt felt—and over the divots of collarbones and shoulders and down incredibly defined arms. Gentle pressure from his fingers, squeezing, testing, elicited another noise from Stiles before he could even think of containing it._ _

__Before he even looked up, he breathed out, “ _Derek_ …” He knew the lines of the body that was under his hands; he’d traced it, or as much as he could, countless times with his eyes, wondering what it would feel like if he ever got to touch it. _ _

__And then his mind caught up with his hands and the rest of his body. Stiles was basically plastered on Derek, their bodies lined up and pressing together from the abdomen south. Heat flushed his entire body, and he bit back a whine as he felt how perfectly they seemed to fit together, before he pushed himself off the guy._ _

__“Derek! Hey—what’s up?”_ _

__“Stiles…” Derek ground out from behind gritted teeth._ _

__Stiles desperately hoped it wasn’t from behind fangs._ _

__“Why is there an illicit bonfire on my property?”_ _

__Stiles sputtered. “I don’t think so. _Your_ property? Technically, your property begins about a quarter mile _that_ way, so we’re not on your property.” He pointed in two directions at once. He paused, considering. “Unless that’s a euphemism for ‘territory,’ in which case, I’ve always wondered: Do you mark it like a regular _Canis lupus_ would?” _ _

__That earned him a baleful glower, which was much less than he’d thought he’d receive. Then Stiles eyes grew wide. A bonfire. A _fire_ , so close to… _ _

__“Oh, my god,” he whispered. Then he raised his voice to shout, “Guys! Everyone! Put out—!”_ _

__Derek clasped a hand over Stiles’ mouth. “Stiles! Stop shouting. Nobody’s listening anyway.” Derek removed his hand when Stiles gave a small nod. “I just came to see what all the noise was.”_ _

__Stiles scoffed. “Oh, please.” He drew out the vowels in _please_. “My sources tell me you only arrived moments after I—after Scott and I did. The party had been raging for at least an hour before.” _ _

__“It only got _annoyingly_ loud because you showed up.” _ _

__“So you admit that you came only because I was here.”_ _

__Derek didn’t say anything. His eyes were wide, almost doe-eyed, as though he were caught in something. He made a move as though to turn away._ _

__Stiles surged forward and cupped Derek’s face between his hands, hopefully more gently than he thought he’d done—but hell, he was a _werewolf_ , he could take it—and closed the distance between them. Stiles’ lips moved against Derek’s, pushing and moulding. His long fingers traversed Derek’s face, mapping out his features, nails scratching against the dark beard along his jaw. He nipped at Derek’s bottom lip and then froze. _ _

__Derek wasn’t moving. He was completely still. And Stiles had _kissed_ him. He had kissed Derek Hale! And the guy had just stood there, as stagnant as those things on Easter Island—had he used that line already? _ _

__Stiles released the man’s face, not daring to look at him. “Oh, my god.” Then he turned and ran—well, as much as he could, with the alcohol buzzing in his skull, sloshing around in his head._ _

__He vaguely noticed someone—no, two somebodies rushing passed him, blonde and almost redheaded, but he pushed it out of his mind as the world in front of him became blurrier. He blinked back the wetness in his eyes and found himself in front of one of the ice chests holding the beer._ _

__He grabbed a couple bottles and made his way to a nice looking tree at the edge of the clearing, putting the drunkenly dancing bodies between him and the fire. The event-not-to-be-thought-of-ever-again happened on the other side of the blaze, so he couldn’t see it any longer— _it_ being a _him_. _ _

__Stiles saw Isaac, Allison and Scott weave their way through the crowd and sit down on a nearby log. They were still very much enchanted with each other, ignoring everything else around them. Whether they were hashing out the details of whatever was going with them or they were shooting the breeze, he didn’t know. And honestly, he didn’t care._ _

__He twisted off the top of one of his bottles and downed half of it. He vaguely wondered if Derek had left, but his mind fortunately skirted away from the topic. He’d made a fool of himself, just like he knew he would if Derek had showed up. Why did he have to come? Stiles knew it wasn’t fair to blame him, and he didn’t. It was all on him. Derek had never given Stiles any indication that he was interested _at all_ , and yet Stiles had chosen to put himself out there. _ _

__He swore, after he finished the first beer, that he’d never do anything like that again._ _

__***********_ _

__Stiles groaned as he woke up, blearily blinking at the bright sunshine streaming through the room. He was lying on a dirty mattress, wearing nothing but his underwear but wrapped in a clean-looking blanket._ _

__“Oh, my god,” he croaked out, pulse thumping in his head. Where the hell was he? Had he been picked up by some nefarious evil-doers?_ _

__He remembered passing out in front of the tree, or he vaguely did. He definitely remembered people slowly leaving as the party winding down. Nobody had noticed him sitting there; it was just slightly too far for the firelight to reach. Stiles also remembered a dream about floating, or was it riding a horse? There had been something rhythmic about it, or with the motion involved. Maybe he’d been in the ocean, with the waves washing over him._ _

__Stiles rubbed at his eyes and sat up, clutching the blanket around his bare skin. His vision acuity slowly returned to him, adjusting from the deep sleep to the brilliant light surrounding him. He could tell he was in a room—the snarky attitude in his inner monologue was present and accounted for, that much was obvious—and it looked like it had once been a bedroom._ _

__Then he noticed the black covering the walls and floor and parts of the ceiling. It was soot… He was in the old Hale house._ _

__“Was that what I dreamed? I walked here?”_ _

__“No, I carried you here.”_ _

__Stiles yelled and fell off the bed as he flung his arms out. “Oh, my god!” He shot up from the floor, blanket dropping to the floor, tangling around his feet. “You—you—you…” He spluttered but couldn’t finish. He didn’t even know what he’d been trying to say._ _

__Derek stood there in the door way, leaning against the frame, which looked like it was threatening to collapse at any moment, poor thing. He was curiously in different clothes than he’d appeared in last night. The shirt looked less soft than before, anyway._ _

__Stiles looked around the room. His clothes were strewn haphazardly around the room, not in any order. The socks were on opposite sides of the mattress. His shirts were near the doorway, where a door was conspicuously absent; his jeans were nearer to the mattress than anything else. It was as if…_ _

__“Did I—did we…?” He gestured to his body, which he realised was woefully unclothed, and to his garments laying around the room._ _

__Derek’s frown deepened as he took in Stiles and the room. Then it turned furious. “No!” he said vehemently. “Are you serious? Nothing like that would _ever_ happen.” _ _

__“Oh.” And just like that, all the air had been punched from Stiles’ lungs and stolen from the room. He forced himself to take a breath and smile, though he was sure it looked as sickly as it felt. “Okay. Cool. Great. Good to know, budro.” He laughed weakly at his rhyme._ _

__He hopped out of the tangle of blanket around his ankles, grabbing his jeans and hastily shoving his feet through the legs, luckily one at a time. He chanced a look at Derek and flinched at what he saw. Okay, he gets it, sex with him was beneath Derek—and bad choice of words there, he told himself—but did he have to look so disgusted?_ _

__He grabbed the plaid shirt he had worn over a tee, foregoing the undershirt that time and throwing the long-sleeved plaid over his shoulders, buttoning it a few times, disregarding the fact that he missed several._ _

__He clutched his shoes and his socks and brushed passed Derek. A hand shot out and grasped his shoulder, not exactly gently. Stiles’ already racing pulse jumped into overdrive at the contact. The hand forced him to face Derek._ _

__“Stiles, wait.” Derek took a deep breath, releasing Stiles from his hold. He paused, as though waiting to see if Stiles would continue to bolt. “You know—I’m not good at these things. Words. Especially—but we need to talk.”_ _

__“Are you seriously looking for validation for your vastly improved vocabulary and increased verbosity, Derek? Because I’m pretty sure it’s not necessary right now and can wait for one of your underlings.” Stiles rolled his shoulders, trying to forget the heat that Derek’s grip had left behind. “And you may not be the best at the putting words into sentences doing, but sometimes actions speak louder, you know? I get the picture. It came through crystalline.”_ _

__Stiles took a step further, but Derek’s next words stopped him again._ _

__“Lydia and Erica talked to me last night. Or at me, very loudly and at length.”_ _

__Stiles turned around and crossing his arms, waiting for Derek to continue. Derek took two sure steps forward, and almost mimicked Stiles’ actions last night. He framed Stiles’ face with his large hands and gently pressed his lips against Stiles’. But before Stiles could even think about what happened, Derek pulled back._ _

__“They said that my actions last night and any consequences today would either make or break the pack. That you were basically the glue, and if you left, Scott would follow. Allison and Isaac would follow Scott. And Erica and Boyd were a package deal with Isaac. Lydia, who I wasn’t even sure considered herself pack, only involved herself because you did.”_ _

__Any elation that had bloomed in Stiles’ chest quickly deflated at Derek’s short soliloquy. “So…what? You’re taking one for the team?” His expression twisted into one of revulsion, mostly at himself. He was apparently nothing more than a pawn._ _

__Derek shook his head, grabbing Stiles’ hands before he could move further away. “What? No!” His nostrils flared as he huffed out a breath. “I told you I’m not any good at this. What I’m saying is that I’m done with not saying anything. I’ve stayed silent long enough, Stiles.”_ _

__Stiles blinked and focused on breathing, not saying anything, not allowing anything like hope grow inside him._ _

__“I care for you. A lot more than I should have allowed myself. But it is what it is. I never said anything because I wasn’t ever certain how you felt. But then Erica basically clawed me to death, laying into me about how much you’ve done for the pack, how much you’ve done for me. And that if I seriously thought for a single moment that it was all just because of Scott, I was a dumbass. And I realised that…”_ _

__“That I like you, too.” Stiles gave a small smile. “God, that sounds so lame. But I do. I really do.”_ _

__And then Derek decided the time for words was over, having spent basically his entire arsenal in the last few moments. His hands slid up Stiles’ arms and came to rest gently around his neck, his lips crashing into Stiles’. Their mouths moved, lips brushing and tongues clashing, pent up emotions flooding out. Stiles lost sense of where he ended and Derek began._ _

___Thank god for bonfires and good friends._ _ _

**Author's Note:**

> Join me on [tumblr](http://www.codarra.tumblr.com) where I'm running a special prompt thing until 31 December. Any prompts received (anon or not) for Sterek or Destiel ficlets will be answered starting in the new year! =] 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought!


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